


100+ Words of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

by rudigersmooch



Series: 100+ Words Series [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Rating varies by chapter and is in the chapter notes, Top Julian Bashir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:34:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 14,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudigersmooch/pseuds/rudigersmooch
Summary: A collection of short ficlets/standalone snippets based on FFA prompts.





	1. Restraint (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Mature for Bashir's fantasies. Also contains sex pollen.

"This is torture."

"Really, Doctor. I'd like to think you don't find my company _that_ objectionable."

"That has nothing to do with it, and you know it," Julian said, even though that was just a little bit of a lie. Being confined to quarters because of an unfortunate exposure to hostile plant life was one thing; being confined to quarters with _Garak_ also here, taking in the surroundings and no doubt doing his best to suss out all Julian's secrets, was something else entirely. Julian understood why it had happened—he needed to be watched, medically-speaking, and the rest of the crew was too busy trying to find either a cure for his affliction or the creature responsible to do it themselves—but that didn't make it any less...unnerving to have Garak in his private space. 

"Don't worry, Doctor—I'm sure the Commander and his crew are doing everything in their power to release you from this prison," Garak said in that cheerful and faintly mocking way he had, without ever looking up from the project in his hands that he was steadily working on. It was somewhat unusual not to have Garak's full attention when they were together, and Julian found it annoyed him, but he couldn't place whether he was actually annoyed or whether it was just the plant's effects rearing up again.

Julian hated that plant, whatever it was. The effects came and went, which meant that he had all too brief moments of clarity and sanity in between the artificially-induced lusty and aggressive urges, and _that_ meant he had plenty of time to be embarrassed about what he inevitably tried to do whenever his good sense disappeared. Garak had had to tie him down last time, a task he'd completed with a ruthless efficiency that he claimed was the result of tying one too many sashes around waists, and Julian had been too far gone at the time to even appreciate the transparent lie. 

As for what he _did_ appreciate whenever the urges were there...well. To say he'd never found Garak attractive would be a more egregious lie than Julian had ever told himself, but he couldn't remember being this fascinated by the curve of his neck and shoulders ( _biting those ridges with hard teeth until Garak gasped_ ) or the way his clothes were so neat and precise ( _pushing them out of the way to get at scales and skin and everything Garak kept hidden_ ) or the way Garak smiled half to himself and half to the watching world ( _kissing and sucking and muffling every sound_ ). The urges, though, were always more than enough to fill in any gaps he might've had in his fantasy life.

Speaking of.

"Garak," Julian said, sounding petulant even to his own ears. "It's starting again."

That made Garak look up, finally, with a fixed and pleasant expression already in place.

"All right. Would you like to be tied up again?"

Julian swallowed. His immediate response to _that_ question was, when it came down to it, not the plant's fault at all.

"No, I think its fine for now."

It would have to be, because the alternative— _any_ of the alternatives—suddenly seemed much too dangerous to contemplate.


	2. Emotional Transference (Garak/Bashir, Miles)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences.

Miles knew something was wrong the minute he canceled dinner plans with Keiko to pick up a pair of pants, but it wasn't until he was actually standing in Garak's shop, feeling warm and almost giddy, that he figured out something was _wrong_.

 _Damn Cardassian tricks_ , was his first thought, even though Garak was mostly ignoring him while he finished some last-minute hemming and chattered on about something that went over Miles's head. Still, it was only around Garak that he felt this way, so it had to be his fault. Somehow. Even if the motive was a mystery and the cause wasn't clear either.

 _Maybe it's a side effect of that plasma explosion_ , the rational part of his mind offered a second later. Which was...fair, he supposed. It had been a nasty explosion. And even though Doctor Bashir had _said_ he didn't have brain damage, that didn't mean it couldn't have shown up afterward. Miles had heard and seen weirder side effects of a plasma explosion.

But that didn't explain the fact that when Garak looked up and smiled warmly at someone behind him, Miles felt it like a punch in the gut – the good kind of punch, like the way he felt when he looked at Keiko. It was enough to make him run from the room, except as soon as he mumbled out that he was leaving and then turned, he nearly ran smack into Bashir.

"Oh! Hello, Chief – picking something up as well?" Julian said, but although the words were directed at Miles, his smile was shot over his shoulder, in the direction of...Garak.

Miles was braced for it this time, and sure enough, there it was: another gut punch. A _lovesick_ gut punch, all too familiar but under the wrong circumstances, just like the giddiness he'd been feeling ever since he left sick bay to head to Garak's shop. _Julian's_ giddiness.

_Oh hell._

Why was nothing ever easy on this station?


	3. Mixed Signals (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences.

In retrospect, Julian probably should've seen the significance of a Cardassian giving him chocolates. Oh, not because the chocolates themselves had any special meaning—Cardassians largely considered sweets to be something for children alone, which made Garak's taste for them somewhat surprising and another matter entirely—but because it was a gift of food in a culture that regularly poisoned its politicians and military leaders when they fell out of favor. Offering a friend food just wasn't _done_ on Cardassia, not in any of the books he'd read over the past two years, because any friend was a potential enemy and you didn't want them to be on their guard if you decided to poison them at a later date. Sharing food was thus strictly reserved for families and loved ones, and outside of families, it was...a gesture. A question. One that Julian had chosen to ignore in favor of believing the gift was just a kindness from a friend.

He really had no excuse, though, for giving the chocolates _back_ , even if it had seemed like a good idea at the time. It was no wonder that Garak had been avoiding him since the Defiant's return from the Gamma quadrant, when Julian had done the Cardassian equivalent of a rejecting him with extreme prejudice just before he left. There was no way around it: he had to apologize and explain, even if the thought of answering the earlier unspoken question made his heart pound far faster than it had any right to. 

Fortunately (or unfortunately?), he never got the chance. As soon as Julian burst into Garak's shop with words of apology already spilling out of his mouth, Garak smiled at him and offered him the now-opened and mostly empty box of chocolates.

Julian wasn't sure what to make of that, but he took a piece with shaking hands and sat down all the same.

"I didn't want to offend you," Julian said, which earned him an amused look. It had the unexpected side effect of alleviating some of the tension he'd been carrying for days, because, well, he knew how that sounded. They regularly disagreed on even minor things, and Julian asked him point-blank about his spy career all the time; worrying about offending him over _this_ seemed like something of a moot point.

"My dear doctor," Garak said with an air of perfectly affected forgiveness. "I'm not offended. I thought humans regularly shared food with their friends."

"They do," Julian answered. _Not Delavian chocolates_ , he didn't say, because at this point he was no longer sure if that was true. "But Cardassians don't."

"Ah, but you are not Cardassian." Garak looked back down at the scraps of fabric he'd been pinning when Julian walked in, a smile still on his face. "What would I have to gain by making a gesture you may not understand?"

Julian didn't have an answer to that. What worried him, though, was the answer he _did_ have, suddenly and with certainty, to a question that Garak had supposedly never asked.

It was hard to deal with the fact that even while sitting there with a good friend and eating delicious chocolates, the strongest thing Julian felt was disappointment.


	4. Feelings Being Revealed (Garak/Bashir, The Jack Pack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences. Set during 6x09.

Given how quickly they'd reasoned out the story behind Legate Damar's rise to power, Julian probably should've known that it wouldn't take the other augments very long to discover _his_ secrets. Unfortunately for him, even if he'd realized this, there was little he could've done to stop it; nobody had any luck keeping those four anywhere, and they escaped from their containment room three more times after that first attempt to contact Weyoun. Tracking them down took hours each time, and the first two times, they were found in the oddest places – the cargo bay (Patrick's idea), Quark's bar (Lauren's idea.) 

The third time, Julian found them in Garak's shop. It didn't make sense until he realized that this time they'd likely been following Sarina; she liked the fabric, he assumed, judging by the way she was holding one of the display pieces very gently in her hands when Julian came into the room. He had half a mind to let her stay there given how almost serene she looked, as aware as she ever was but at peace, but the other three wouldn't have stood for it and they weren't being nearly as unobtrusive. In fact, they seemed very determined to bother Garak while also pretending that he wasn't interesting at all when compared to their augmented selves, and the harried expression on Garak's face as he pulled a piece of cloth out of their hands made it obvious that they'd been at it for quite a long time. Hours, Julian guessed.

It was actually rather funny, or at least it was right up until they spotted Julian in the doorway.

"Oh no," Patrick said, and Julian thought it was just disappointment at being caught again until Jack picked up the thought with his usual speed.

"You like him." He looked from Julian to Garak and back with manic energy and that same disdain he seemed to hold for all people outside his group. "That's ridiculous, this whole thing is ridiculous. You could've chosen better. Couldn't you have chosen better?"

"At least he's handsome," Lauren said with a shade of approval. "But you probably realized that."

Julian pasted a smile on his face and did not look at Garak even for an instant. The odds of his expression showing shock or pity were too high, and Julian wasn't willing to risk it, not right then.

"Very astute, all of you. Now, shall we?"

They reluctantly followed him back to their room, still buzzing with energy and with no awareness of the havoc they left behind. Julian did his best to maintain his mask of professionalism the entire way, and he'd thought it worked, right up until Patrick stopped him on his way out.

"It's okay," he said, in his cheerful, certain voice. "He likes you too."


	5. One Night Stands (Damar/Garak)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Teen/Mature for vague mentions of sex. Set just before The Battle of Cardassia.

Damar was quiet.

That wasn't a surprise, really, since he was often quiet, but this was also a circumstance where Garak would've expected him to break pattern, to fumble for awkward words or make excuses. People usually did when they found themselves in uncomfortable, unexpected situations; Garak knew this well, and he treated the knowledge like a tool to be pulled out whenever needed. Damar, he thought, should've been exactly the type of person to break in this very normal way.

But Damar was quiet, still and silent and unbothered even with his trousers still pulled down, and it made Garak remember exactly why this whole situation had managed to surprise _him_ : Damar didn't always do what he expected, and he'd certainly not expected him to grab him the moment they were alone, to push bruises into his skin as they both tumbled into a fast, desperate release. Garak hadn't expected it and hadn't minded, but he'd thought Damar _would_ , given their pasts, their circumstances, and the surroundings of a still-dusty cellar. Surely it was just another in a long line of things Damar hadn't fully thought through, a bad decision to compound the mistakes he'd made.

Damar either didn't think so or just didn't feel like mentioning it, and Garak supposed that meant that there was nothing to talk about. It was strange, though, how much _he_ wanted to talk about it, how much the words were almost bursting out of him. ‘Uncomfortable situation,’ indeed.

In the end, he didn't say anything, choosing simply to shrug and straighten his clothes the best he could. He watched Damar do the same with a practiced air of indifference, and Garak ignored the fact that he could pin down a familiar, not unpleasant feeling at the sight if he tried. 

"Colonel Kira will be back soon."

That got a ghost of a smile, the first expression Garak had seen since Damar had pressed his face into his neck.

"And tomorrow we storm the fortress to liberate Cardassia from the Dominion, once and forever."

He sounded confident enough that Garak, despite his better instincts, let himself hope it would be that simple.


	6. Mating Cycles (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Teen. Set sometime after The Wire (season 3ish.)

Garak didn't show up to lunch.

This wouldn't have worried Julian very much, normally, except when he passed by Garak's shop to gently rib him about the failure of that oh-so-famous Cardassian sense of time, he found the place dark and the doors closed. According to the owner of the Bajoran shop next door, it had been that way for days, with no sign of Garak in the promenade at all. And maybe that shouldn't have worried him either, but Garak _had_ been acting very strangely lately, looking tired and dazed one moment only to be energetic and irritable the next, and now he was avoiding Julian on top of that. With everything combined, it was all too reminiscent of that time his implant had been acting up, and as far as Julian was concerned, that was a good enough reason to assume something was wrong. 

It didn't take him long to collect his medical bag and make his way to Garak's quarters, and using his medical override code got him in just as easily as it had the last time. It also turned out to be just as necessary, when he spotted Garak sitting on his bed and looking alarmingly pale even by Cardassian standards.

"Garak, are you all right?" Julian sat down next to him and reached out a hand. His fingers had barely brushed Garak's shoulder before he jerked out of reach to stand and pace the room, his fists clenching and unclenching as he did so. That too was familiar, and Julian's concern increased.

"Quite fine, Doctor," Garak said, but even during that short response, his breathing was shallow and rapid, and the words came out without their usual certain snap. Julian dismissed the idea that it was a result of his implant somehow activating again; these symptoms had more in common with early signs of heat stroke in humans than with the implant's effects, although he honestly had no idea what those signs meant for Cardassians. 

One way or another, he was going to find out.

"You're not fine, Garak," Julian said firmly. "And we're not doing this again. If you pass out _again_ and I have to beam you to the infirmary and I find _another_ secret implant from your days in the Obsidian Order, I'm going to be very annoyed." 

For some reason, his irritated speech made Garak smile. There were even shades of approval in the expression, somewhere underneath the still-concerning pallor of his face; nonetheless, he didn't move even an inch closer, although he did stop pacing long enough to meet Julian's gaze. The better to lie, he suspected.

"Thank you, Doctor, but I really am fine. This is just a somewhat unpleasant side effect of being the only Cardassian on the station." For an instant, he looked like he regretted telling Julian even that much, but when Julian didn't interrupt or move to stand, he continued. "A sort of biological panic, as it were. More inconvenient than anything."

"I don't understand."

"I just mean that I'm fine, and that it will pass." He turned away, but not far enough to actually take his eyes completely off Julian. For some reason, Garak seemed strangely fixated on his hands all of a sudden, like he thought Julian might give him a sedative without warning if he so much as blinked. "It always does."

"What will pass? What's going on?" Julian set his bag down and stood, not really surprised when Garak took several steps back in response. He seemed loathe to have Julian anywhere near him, scanner or hypo or not. Still, Julian couldn't just leave him like this. 

He took a step closer. Garak took a step back.

"Garak—"

"Doctor, you really should go."

"Why, so you can suffer alone from an apparently recurrent illness?" Julian sighed and spread his arms, hoping the gesture was as open in Cardassian body language as it was for humans. "Garak. Let me _help you_."

To Julian's surprise, Garak didn't immediately turn the offer down with another easy lie. In fact, he looked…conflicted, like his resolve to handle this alone was wavering. Julian deliberately didn't move, and he was rewarded when Garak gave a very small nod.

"All right, Doctor. But remember that I did warn you."

Garak crossed the distance between them in a second, faster than Julian had ever seen him move outside of an emergency, and it was so startling that he instinctively braced himself for an attack. Garak cupping his face and kissing him was thus something of a surprise, and the surprise only continued when the touch of their lips made Garak groan and lean into him, leaving no room for personal space or second thoughts. Julian kissed back automatically, because even surprised, his body knew what to do while his mind caught up.

It was, at least, a simple answer for what was wrong: some sort of mating drive. Julian didn't know why that had apparently been so difficult to say, when such things were actually fairly common across a variety of species. He supposed it was just Garak's pride and recalcitrant nature that interfered, especially if it was somehow true that it only showed up in exiled Cardassians.

Julian was forced to change his mind about Garak's motive for secrecy, though, the longer their kissing went on. Despite the sudden beginning, Garak seemed to be waiting for _him_ to take it further, and when Julian pressed closer—nothing complicated, just his hands at Garak's waist turning into a gentle embrace—Garak relaxed under his touch. That, in turn, made Julian tighten his hold and smooth his hands up Garak's back, and it was interesting that Garak didn't so much as twitch, not even when Julian's fingers came to a rest over his shoulder blades. It was an awfully vulnerable position for someone with Garak's level of suspicion about the universe to be in, and the allowing of that simple act—the _welcoming_ of it—made everything clearer.

It wasn't about pride; it was about trust. Garak may not have fully trusted anyone, but he at least trusted Julian enough to let him see him like this and help him. Julian felt strangely honored and strangely warm, but the second of those things he blamed on their kisses; he was only human, after all, and Garak was very solid and close, so close that Julian felt like he was losing his mind.

In the end, it was only his sense of professionalism that enabled him to pull away enough to speak. He was here as a friend but also as a doctor, and he didn't want to forget that; even if the kiss he dropped on Garak's jaw before he managed to say anything was far from professional, he decided he could be forgiven for that, since it helped him keep his head clear.

"Tell me what you need," he said while trailing his fingers down Garak's covered spine. "And I'll do it."

Garak, in response, simply dragged him to the floor.


	7. Ulterior Motives (Weyoun/Damar)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Explicit. Contains noncon, somnophilia, and Weyoun.

Weyoun couldn't say much in Dukat's favor, but if he'd had one positive attribute, it was that he at least had the good sense to be presentable and present at the start of every day. Legate Damar, meanwhile, was very lacking in that respect, and it made it extremely difficult to keep to a schedule when Weyoun spent part of his mornings tracking the man down. If he had been less than a Vorta, he would've found it annoying or frustrating to so often have to stumble over the Cardassian personally before the day could begin, and he would've found it especially disrespectful that Damar was sometimes still drunk from the night before. Since he was a Vorta, however, he merely found it inconvenient, a hindrance to the day's activities and nothing more.

Some days were admittedly worse than others, however. While Weyoun had been fortunate enough to find Damar sleeping off his kanar in his quarters today rather than in some unknown location, the drink had a very stubborn hold on him; no amount of calling his name seemed to do any good, and even shaking him by the shoulders did nothing. Weyoun tried several times, increasing the force each time, but when Damar did nothing but shift and snore in response, he admitted it as a lost cause and resigned himself to dealing with the Cardassian people himself.

It was by chance that Weyoun had just turned to leave him to his drunken stupor when he noticed a bit of red out of the corner of his eye. The color was out of place in the dull blacks and greys of the room and Damar's bed and Damar's person, and Weyoun was puzzled enough that he searched for it, eventually finding it underneath the still-open flaps of Damar's trousers. He'd obviously not bothered to refasten them after the previous night's lady had left him to sleep, and so his genitals were exposed, a small red opening nestled inside a crevice of gray skin. The entire image added to the impression of carelessness that he'd come to expect from Damar; Weyoun could barely believe that _this_ was the person they'd chosen to lead Cardassia after the arrogance of Dukat, and it was with some slight amount of distaste that he moved to cover him up.

He changed his mind when his fingers brushed that red flesh, however, and Damar's snoring came to an abrupt stop. The reaction was interesting, especially when combined with the texture—wet, soft, warm, nothing at all that he'd expected to find on a Cardassian body—and that _color_ , so startling in contrast to the surrounding skin. Weyoun couldn't help but feel curious, and so he placed his fingers more firmly against that opening; one slid inside easily, which was mystifying (was Damar not male after all? This didn't at all match up with what he thought Cardassian anatomy looked like.) until he felt something solid and rounded just under his fingertip. It only grew harder the more pressure he applied, and when he pulled his finger out, a stiff column of red flesh followed and swelled into the open air.

The image was more what he'd expected, grotesque and showy in equal measure, and Weyoun found himself strangely disappointed. Indiscriminate arousal: perhaps this wasn't surprising at all, given the promiscuity of Dukat and Damar and possibly Cardassians in general. Clearly, it took very little to prime them for mating if they could be brought to size while they were sleeping, and with no more than a touch; Weyoun perfectly understood the disdain the Founders held for solids now, and why they hadn't deigned to make reproductive abilities a part of his genetic code. If this was the result, the entire idea seemed actually quite disgusting.

Weyoun couldn't explain why he didn't leave or, in fact, why he reached out to touch the newly-revealed flesh instead of recoiling. It certainly wasn't because he wanted the abundance of wetness on his palms, or because he found the idea of touching it appealing for other reasons; the Vorta had no such lusty feelings, and if they had, they would not have shown them over a dipsomaniac like Damar.

He had to admit, though, that there was something almost...pleasing in watching Damar breathe harder under his touch, even seeking it out instinctively with shallow thrusts of his hips in his sleep. If Damar had been awake, he would've been repulsed by the very idea of this; he didn't much care for Weyoun, and he certainly wouldn't have wanted to spend his seed on Weyoun's hands. This is probably why Weyoun took great pride in making him do so, and why he didn't try to clean up the mess afterward; let Damar wake up and wonder and feel a phantom touch, and suspect.

If nothing else came of it, at least Weyoun had his repayment for the time lost that morning.


	8. Sleepovers (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences/Teens. Implied sexual feelings.

"At least no one's sick or dying," were the good doctor's choice words of comfort as he lay down behind him. Under normal circumstances, Garak would've admired the blunt attempt at doctor's humor, but under these circumstances—the cold and isolation, and his own uneven mood—he found it only compounded the stress of the situation.

"Or imprisoned," he added anyway, his voice full of healthy cheer. It was mostly just an attempt to stop himself from shivering, hoping that will power and a veneer of positivity would succeed where their thin thermal blanket had so far failed.

When Dr. Bashir laughed, it came out in a huff of hot air against his neck, and Garak shivered anyway.

"Or imprisoned," Bashir agreed before he moved infinitesimally closer. He was living heat, the only spot of warmth in the room, and he shared it willingly enough; Garak couldn't decide if he was more alarmed by the sharing itself or by the press of someone against his back.

When the weight of an arm came to rest around his waist, he decided it was the latter, but not for the reasons he'd expected. If anything, this position was almost too easy, and he had to fight down the urge to roll fully onto his stomach and pull Bashir on top of him. _That_ surely was not what the doctor had intended when he'd offered to let Garak sleep beside him for their mutual survival, but the urge was still there, lurking somewhere behind his rational mind.

He fought it down as best he could for long minutes, time enough for Bashir to fall asleep. 

He was naturally startled when Bashir spoke again, almost half an hour later.

"By the way," he said, his voice heavy with impending sleep, "please don't judge me if…something happens while I'm sleeping this close to you. It's a normal body response."

Garak didn't quite manage a smile at that, but he did feel a little relieved. Quirks of biology: now, there was an excuse.

"Believe me, Doctor: judgment would be the furthest thing from my mind."


	9. Champagne and Its Consequences (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences. Contains alcohol.

In theory, Julian's ability to metabolize alcohol should've been improved right along with his hand-eye coordination and his enhanced memory. It would've made sense as a side effect, at least, given that his parents had wanted a star athlete just as much as they'd wanted a genius. In practice, though, alcohol had always been an inconvenient thing to be avoided just in case he slipped up and revealed too much, and that meant that he'd never had a chance to build the tolerance to it that his peers had. Superior metabolism or not, some things just took time to develop, and Julian was starting much, much later than everyone else; it was obvious that he was at a disadvantage, at least in this one area.

Of course, he didn't realize that until _after_ Ezri's wedding, which meant he had the delightful experience of seeing just how badly champagne went to his head. With all that celebrating and all those toasts, he knew he'd been quite obnoxious by the end of the evening; judging by the fact he woke up alone, fully dressed, and with a splitting headache, he thought someone must've dragged him here and put him none-too-kindly to bed. All of this would've been embarrassing but not very terrible, however, were it not for his enhanced memory, which helpfully reminded him that he'd woken up at some point during the night, still drunk, and decided he needed to talk to Garak right away. To be exact, he'd needed to tell him how much he appreciated their friendship, how much he missed him, how much he adored him and wished they'd kissed even once, just to try it out.

Not even Starfleet's computer had safeguards in place that could stop a drunk but very determined Julian Bashir, and that meant that when he woke up, one of the first things he saw through his bleary eyes was a Starfleet padd in his hands, with a cheerful "message sent!" blazoned across the screen.

If Julian had said even half the things he vaguely remembered, Garak was going to have a very entertaining morning.


	10. Top!Bashir (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Mature/Explicit.

The scales over Garak's spine were slightly darker than the surrounding skin, more black than grey, and they were cool to the touch and hard as granite despite their thinness. Julian found them fascinating in a way he couldn't help, half doctor and half curious boy, and he'd felt that way for years; even if an up-close examination hadn't been his motivation in getting Garak naked, he appreciated this chance to look at them without Garak wondering why he was so interested in his back. In the quiet stillness of his quarters, Julian even felt daring enough to touch them, to map out their distinctive pattern with his fingertips and a slow care that he hadn't had time for in the frantic rush of earlier. Garak would no doubt find it all sentimental and highly suspicious if he was awake, and the thought made Julian smile as he continued to stroke a hand down his back, before he shifted forward just enough to press a sleepy kiss against the scales between his shoulder blades.

"Cardassians aren't very sensitive there," Garak pointed out mildly, making Julian start, "but by all means, do continue."

"I thought you were asleep."

"Hardly."

Garak sounded almost offended by the idea, which only made Julian smile more; they'd had an argument about human versus Cardassian stamina earlier, although the context had been a bit different. Julian wasn't surprised that his pride would reassert itself now, though it was interesting that Garak wasn't feeling lofty enough to protest Julian still essentially petting him. Julian had thought for sure that he'd brush him off or roll out of reach the minute he realized what was happening, saying that it wasn't _Cardassian_ to want to be touched so intimately, not even after sex.

It gave Julian an idea, and also chased all thoughts of sleep from his head.

"How does _this_ feel?" he asked, and he fanned his hands out along Garak's shoulders and back. He kept his touch light and his thumbs still pressed together against Garak's spine, but the touch couldn't be mistaken for anything but warm and affectionate.

"It feels fine," Garak said, right before giving a gratifying shiver. He jumped a little when Julian slid his hands lower to repeat the motion across his lower back and oblique muscles, but he still didn't push him away or tell him to stop. By the time his thumbs reached Garak's tailbone, Julian could hardly believe it; they'd been frantic and fumbling the first time, in too much of a hurry to get at skin for Julian to really consider anything but a quick release. Easy, fast, friendly.

He hadn't considered the idea that Garak might want to be touched in a slow, tender way. His mistake, he supposed.

"You seem to have a goal there, Doctor," Garak said, snapping Julian out of his thoughts. When Julian darted his eyes upward, he saw Garak looking at him over his shoulder; his mild expression didn't really hide the heated look in his eyes, and Julian thought there was probably something similar to be found on his own face, especially once he realized where his hands were resting.

And Garak wasn't moving away.

"Not a goal. More of a…question."

"Mm." Garak gave him one last look before he turned away and relaxed, fully, under his hands. 

Julian didn't ask if he was sure, but he did kiss his spine again, in that same place that Garak couldn't really feel. He moved his hands enough for one finger to slide inside Garak with surprising ease, and he watched for a reaction, looking for signs that Garak found the intrusion uncomfortable or unpleasant. The reaction he got—Garak sighing in bliss and shivering again—was eloquent and answer enough, even if not what he'd expected.

Julian didn't make either of them wait much longer, and when he pushed his cock inside him, he tried to stay detached enough to focus on the details of his performance rather than the sensation. It didn't really work; Garak's spinal scales scraping against his chest were distracting, as was the way he clenched around him and pushed back into every thrust, and it didn't take long before Julian was fucking him harder than he'd intended to, pushing in and out almost mindlessly while his fingers dug circles into Garak's hips. If Garak's rapid gasps were any indication, he didn't seem to mind at all, and after only minutes of this, he shuddered in a way that Julian had only seen once.

When Julian came, it was with his head pressed against Garak's shoulders while he held him close.


	11. Growing Old Together (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences.

"I take back everything bad I ever said about Cardassian summers."

"Do you, dear?"

"Well, maybe not about the humidity," Julian corrected, still more than a little grumpy. "But I didn't even know I _had_ arthritis until we got here. I thought I'd just been naturally blessed."

"Oh, I'm sure that's still the word for it."

The look Julian shot him was one of his best withering looks, but Garak seemed strangely unaffected. After thirty years of being subjected to his looks, that shouldn't have been surprising, but it wasn't just that; Garak seemed in unusually good spirits considering he'd had to deal with Julian's bad mood for most of their flight.

Even after all this time, Julian knew when to be suspicious.

"You know exactly why General Kira asked us here, don't you."

"Would I keep that information from you?" Garak said as he held out his arm, and it wasn't even a question. Julian harrumphed but accepted the offered elbow anyway; Garak seemed to be handling the chill of the station much better than he was, and it felt nice to walk arm-in-arm with him down the familiar path of the promenade. All the shops were different and all the faces too, but other than that, it hadn't changed that much; a part of it still felt like home, although not as much as Garak did.

Julian almost said as much, intending to shock Garak down to the steel-gray roots of his hair with the sentimentalism of it, when there was a commotion in front of them, right where the old school used to be. Julian looked up, expecting to see some rabble-rousing teenagers or a petty thief, and was instead surprised to see General Kira standing next to Miles, Keiko, Molly, Kirayoshi, Ezri, Quark, Jake, Kasidy, Rebecca, and at least a dozen Bajorans. All of them were staring intently at the doorway, waiting for something.

Then Julian saw a very familiar face, unchanged after all this time. The uniform was extremely out-of-date, of course, as one would expect after decades of time spent lost, but seeing it here, of all places, brought the memories rushing back. Julian felt like he was a young man again, just waiting for Sisko to give an order or lead them into battle once more; he felt like he could do anything, like the universe was still full of possibilities.

It was actually a very lovely surprise, and when Garak tried to move away, Julian just tightened his grip and grinned for all he was worth when Sisko's eyes met his and showed recognition.

"Welcome back, Captain."


	12. Clichés (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bashir-the-spy!AU. Rated for General Audiences/Teens.

"A bomb?" Julian didn't have to fake his fear even though he'd needed to fake his ignorance just seconds before, and at Garak's slow nod, he began to formulate a plan. "I'll tell Sisko right away." He would do no such thing, but Garak didn't have to know where the information was _really_ going, not as long as Tahna Los was stopped in the end. 

Julian had just turned to leave when he heard a shifting behind him, and the shop doors closed before he'd taken even two steps towards them.

"Leaving so soon, Doctor?" Garak asked, his voice as smooth as the fine clothes hanging all around them. "You haven't even tried on your suit."

The phaser pressed against his back wasn't a surprise, exactly, but it _was_ out a little earlier than Julian had expected. Usually he at least had a chance to establish his character, perhaps throw out a few traits to make him seem like an easy target, before the other side caught on; apparently, Garak was much quicker on the uptake than he'd planned.

This called for a different tactic.

"Are you threatening a Starfleet officer, _Mister_ Garak?" Julian made his voice come out light, almost flirtatious, and his grin was the same. In the past, it had thrown people off their guard; no one ever really expected Julian Bashir, the light-hearted and teasing spy.

"I don't know. Am I, _Doctor_?" The pressure at his back increased. "I can recognize a spy when I see one, but I'm really not sure how the Federation handles the credentials of its covert operatives."

Garak sounded not just suspicious, but certain and unwavering; Julian didn't see any way around it, and so he twisted with smooth precision, until the phaser was in his hands instead of Garak's. The loss of his carefully crafted cover was almost worth it for the brief look of shock on Garak's face; Julian could already tell he was a hard man to surprise, even by Cardassian standards.

Julian undoubtedly surprised him again when he merely set the phaser aside on a nearby table instead of using it. He could've fired it and claimed self-defense, and Starfleet wouldn't have seen anything suspicious with that, given their perspective roles as an officer and a rogue Cardassian; they both knew it, just like they certainly both knew why he didn't take that route.

It would be very convenient to have two spies in one place, even though they were technically on opposing sides. This situation proved that, and frankly, Julian was curious to see just how useful they could be to one another.

Judging by Garak's slow smile, the feeling was mutual.

"I am actually a doctor with Starfleet," Julian said, right before the loaded silence became too heavy. "Just like I'm sure you're a very good tailor."

"Oh, certainly." Garak tilted his head, suddenly the picture of harmless professionalism. "Although it does get a bit…difficult now and then. My measuring instrument is broken at the moment, you understand, and I've been taking measurements by hand all day." He paused. "And I don't yet have yours."

Garak smiled again, and there was a shade of something darker in the expression, there and gone in a blink. It made Julian's breath catch despite himself, and then it made him smile; usually, flirtation didn't work on _him_ either. This night was just full of surprises. 

Fortunately, Julian was more than prepared to meet that challenge…or at least he would be, some other day. There were Bajoran terrorists to be caught at the moment, and the timeframe for that was unfortunately short.

"I'm afraid I'll have to take you up on that later, Garak." The regret in his voice was sincere, to his own shock. "I have some business to see to."

"Of course."

Neither of them reached for the phaser when Julian left, and it was the closest thing to a spoken truce they'd probably ever get. Julian couldn't help but find it all very exciting, like the plot of a secret agent holosuite program; the only thing more clichéd than two enemy spies joining forces was two enemy spies joining forces before falling in love.

It was fortunate, Julian decided, that there was little chance of that happening.


	13. Rejection (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences, has mentions of Julian/Ezri. It's a little sad.

The moment he kissed Bashir, Garak knew it was a mistake. The signs were all there: the tension in Bashir's shoulders, the way his mouth went slack with surprise and stayed that way, the fact he raised and lowered his arms several times before finally bracing his palms against Garak's shoulders. The kiss lasted only a moment, only a fraction of a second, but by the time Garak pulled back of his own accord, Bashir was already pushing him away.

The silence that followed was longer than the kiss had been, and at first Garak didn't know which part was worse: that Bashir couldn't find something to say, or that _he_ couldn't. In the end, he decided it was neither of those things: the worst part was that Bashir didn't look angry or disgusted, but _confused_ , like not even his enhanced brain could conceive of a world where he reciprocated such feelings.

It was not flattering, and Garak smiled, out of reflex more than any humor at the situation. The reaction, at least, seemed to shake Bashir out of his stupor.

"Garak…" he said, and his voice was slow and almost gentle. Garak despised it.

"Oh, don't worry, Doctor," Garak said smoothly as he straightened, turning his frozen stance into something resembling good posture instead. "A simple misunderstanding." 

Garak had assumed Bashir knew exactly what he was doing when he invited him in, when he'd looked at him with those eyes and that smile and offered him a drink. It wasn't a cultural clash, not a case of Cardassian values meeting Federation ones and finding them different; after knowing Bashir for almost seven years, Garak had learned to ignore those minor conflicts and not take them to heart, difficult as it was sometimes. No, this misunderstanding was all Garak's, born of some sort of malformed emotion like hope, and with a result he really should've expected.

He also should've expected that Bashir wouldn't let it go at that. _That_ was a human trait, the urge to let someone down easy; a Cardassian would've just ignored it after Garak's explanation rather than press the issue, but humans were unexpectedly cruel in that way.

"No, Garak, wait." Bashir swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated now. "It's not that—I mean, it's just that Ezri and I might—"

"Doctor." Garak waited until Bashir looked at him, and then he set a very gentle hand on his shoulder. Bashir didn't flinch, but he probably would every time after this; Garak knew he had to brace for it in the future, not to let it affect him at all. "It really _is_ all right. Certainly not," and here the humor came out, in smothered and inappropriate laughter, "certainly not _the end of the world._ "

Bashir's answering smile was wobbly but there, because he understood what Garak meant, at least this time.

"I understand. We don't have to talk about it."

"Good." Garak nodded once and considered it done. The ache in his chest, present since the moment Bashir had pushed him away, bloomed hotter, but it was easy enough not to let it show. Easy enough, too, to find an excuse to leave, since apparently Bashir and the new Dax had other plans.

Garak left with his head held high and a smile pinned on his face, and ignored the fact that, for the first time in nearly five years, he felt like he needed a drink.


	14. Villain/Henchman Pairings (Dukat/Damar)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Explicit. Contains dubcon, xenophobia against Bajorans, Dukat being manipulative.

Dukat’s hold was tight and sure on the back of his neck, and that fact—Dukat’s certainty—was almost enough to overcome Damar’s misgivings about being on his knees. Almost.

“It takes practice,” Dukat said in an understanding way, even as he used a light pressure to coax Damar closer to his open trousers. “I wouldn’t expect you to be as skilled at this as a woman. Alas, there are no Cardassian women here, are there?” His fingers tightened, sending a throb of pain up Damar’s spine. “As for Bajorans—”

“You shouldn’t have to ask for a _Bajoran_ ,” Damar said firmly. Just the idea filled him with annoyance enough to overcome his nerves; the Bajorans had never appreciated Dukat, and even now, with the backing of the Dominion, they still didn’t. 

Dukat was deserving of at least that much—at least _this_ much—and Damar made himself remember that. Until Dukat found another woman, he didn’t mind helping him find relief, even if the combined smell of sex and salt and metal was churning his stomach. It was probably just one glass too much of kanar, anyway; he shouldn’t have said “yes” when Dukat offered it, and he was certain that he was paying for it now.

He was also certain that Dukat’s patience would soon run out, and so Damar didn’t wait for him to nudge him forward again: he leaned forward on his own, to brace his hands on Dukat’s thighs and press his tongue against his slit. The noise of approval Dukat made filled him with pride, and he didn’t flinch when the tip of Dukat’s cock pushed out to meet his tongue, even if the bitter flavor wasn’t to his taste.

Regardless of the task, Damar was happy to serve.


	15. One-Sided Sex Pollen (Garak/Bashir, mentions of Garak/other)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Teen for sexual feelings/Quark's terrible flirting. Contains minor pining.

Garak was certain he'd experienced stranger mornings, but try as he might, he couldn't recall any right at the moment.

"I never noticed how delicate your ears are," Quark said, sounding awe-struck and enamored, and also _completely insane_. "You have such...interesting lobes."

"Cardassians don't _have_ lobes," Garak pointed out in exasperation, but Quark wasn't listening. Now that he'd said his piece of prattle, Quark seemed mostly interested in scrambling over the table Garak had deliberately placed between them, and he wasn't the only one; Garak's other three would-be suitors had also escaped their respective dressing rooms and obstacles and were now slowly making their way towards him, with each one looking somewhere between lecherous and smitten.

It was completely baffling and more than a little alarming, considering the number of besotted fools seemed to be increasing by the minute. Even worse, though, was that the lechery seemed to be winning over the more tender feelings as more time passed; he could handle listening to Quark ramble on about his imagined attributes or Morn recite freehand poetry (not actually that bad, Garak had to admit) but he was a bit less prepared to deal with being swarmed by a mob of lusty bar patrons and shopkeepers.

When his four pursuers became five (now with the addition of Aroya, who was normally both very lovely and very interested in Constable Odo) Garak decided that he'd had enough and bolted for his shop door, taking care to lock it behind him. It wouldn't do much good if the people inside were truly determined, but it at least bought him enough time to make his way to sickbay. There must've been a leak in a conduit or a malfunction in the replicators or _something_ that was making the residents of Deep Space Nine act so strangely, but whatever it was, he was sure Bashir could find the cause.

Garak was forced to revise his plan when, exactly two seconds after he walked into sickbay, Bashir turned to look at him with the same lust drunk expression Garak had seen on the others' faces.

"Perhaps I should come back another time," Garak said, and in the process of looking for a good obstacle to put in Bashir's path while he made his escape, his eyes landed on the sample Bashir had been examining a moment ago. Realization dawned when Garak recognized it as the pollen that had been released in one of the cargo bays a few days ago; most of the promenade had been fumigated during the initial outbreak, with the exception of Garak's shop, since it had been closed at the time. Everyone had assumed the air filters were more than up for the task of catching a little pollen; Garak would have to correct them on that, assuming he survived.

As it was, Bashir was much faster than the others, and he seemed to have skipped the poetry-and-flattery phase entirely. He was in arm's reach in an instant, before Garak had taken even one step backwards, and Garak...caught him. Of course he did; Bashir had all but slammed into him, and catching him seemed like the easiest way to avoid injury to them both.

He had no such excuse for the way he tilted his head, allowing Bashir's kisses to land on his neck while his hands tugged at Garak's clothes. The way he fumbled with the simple tie wasn't like him at all, and it was a cruel reminder that this wasn't Bashir, not really.

"You're going to regret this, my dear doctor," Garak said on a sigh, and he allowed himself to enjoy it for one second. One second, that was all, before he pulled back and hit Bashir in the diaphragm.

It was more effective than he thought it would be; Garak made sure that Bashir’s knees didn't hit the floor _very_ hard before he let him drop the rest of the way so he could reach the comm. unit on the wall.

He hoped, for all their sakes, that at least Odo would be unaffected.


	16. Kidfic (Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences.

The boy couldn't have been more than ten, but he still stood as straight and tall as a soldier when Julian entered the room. Julian wished he could say he found that odd, but since it had happened no less than a dozen times over the past few days in similar rooms and with similar children, the peculiarity of it had dulled somewhat. Unfortunately, those past few days had also been very enlightening when it came to Cardassians in general and Cardassian children in particular, and that meant that he saw the automatic stance for what it was: a defense against the world.

"Hello," Julian said, in stilted Cardăsda. "What's your name?"

"Tal Rissar," the boy said, and Julian was surprised to hear something almost defiant in the way he said his last name. He was an orphan, Julian knew that much from the woman that had brought him to this clinic, but he didn't know what his circumstances were otherwise; even now, Cardassians didn't share information freely, not even when it would've been helpful.

"Tal," Julian repeated with a nod nevertheless. "How are you feeling? Your watcher says you've been having trouble eating."

It was a friendly question, meant to put him at ease until the results of the full-body scan could determine the problem conclusively, but Tal must've been suspicious by nature; he said nothing while he looked at Julian with a very familiar expression, like he expected Julian to steal all his secrets and so refused to participate in the conversation. 

Julian told himself it would be inappropriate to grin, even if seeing that small face hold an expression not unlike one of _Garak's_ meant Julian was sure to be fighting laughter in a minute.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Julian said instead as he looked at the overhead screen. "I have the results back now, so let's see about taking care of this stomachache."

Tal's expression shifted to one of betrayal, directed at the _screen_ of all things, and when Julian turned away to get a hypospray, he didn't quite manage to smother his smile.


	17. Fake-Out Make-Out (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Teen. For kisses.

As excuses went, this one was pretty flimsy, even by Julian's usually terrible flirtation standards. If he was asked, he was prepared to say he'd gotten caught up in the moment, in the thrilling rush of the chase, but he didn't think anyone would've believed him; he'd had this holoprogram for weeks and so knew it by heart, and there were always two options at this point. The first was to keep running, get caught, and get taken to the villain's lair to save the day. The second was to hide in plain sight, buy enough time to come up with a dashing plan, and save the day that way. He didn't usually take the second option since he didn't find it as challenging as the first, nor as interesting.

This time, with Garak running alongside him instead of one of the computer-generated allies, the second option was the only one Julian was interested in. His heart started pounding from something more serious than adrenaline when he stopped Garak with a hand on his arm just as they entered a new alleyway, and he was pretty sure his hands were shaking when they cupped Garak's face. Julian must've unknowingly given Garak enough signals so that the planned kiss didn't come as a surprise, because Garak kissed him back without hesitation and didn't flinch when Julian bodily pressed him against the generated wall.

As kisses went, this one was better than Julian had hoped.

"You know," Garak said after their pursuers had passed them and Julian had pulled away just far enough to breathe, "in most places, seeing a Cardassian and a human kissing would be cause for _more_ attention, not less." He was smiling as he spoke, and his hand came up to curl around Julian's jaw, with his thumb just barely brushing Julian's lower lip. "What an interesting program this is."

"I don't think the program makes that sort of distinction," Julian said, and he would've kicked himself for the too-serious response, except Garak only chuckled and stayed where he was. He didn't seem to mind that Julian was essentially pinning him in place, and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to continue the storyline either. Neither was Julian, for that matter; he could always finish it later.

"Computer, freeze program," Julian said, and Garak was grinning when he met him halfway for another kiss, this one longer and slower than their first.


	18. Being Attracted to the Wrong People (Kira/Damar)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences. Kira has done nothing wrong but she feels guilty anyway.

Nerys knew from experience just how quickly lines could get blurred when on the frontlines of a war neither government wanted to admit, but that didn't mean she was prepared for how quickly they blurred on Cardassia Prime. Things had been easier when she'd had Odo at her side, a constant ally to help her stay strong and separate and an island in a flood of Cardassian soldiers, but the moment he'd left, things had changed beyond her control. She would never be friends with the Cardassian rebels, would never be able to get past what all of them had done before they'd come to stand together in hiding, but there was still a necessary camaraderie that came with fighting alongside someone and trusting them with your life. Nerys felt it build more day-by-day, in the worst circumstances, and she accepted it as part of the means of survival. She'd always been able to handle anything if it meant survival.

Nerys didn't know when she started looking at Damar differently, just that it surprised and sickened her when she realized what she was doing. She admired him for what he was fighting for and that felt like a betrayal of everything, and adding any appreciation for him as a person felt like a betrayal of more than that, of Odo and her fallen fellow Bajorans and even her idea of herself. It kept her up at night more than the worry about tomorrow did, and she thought she might go mad, maybe, except one night she tossed and turned and woke up with a realization.

Damar had many good qualities, both as a soldier and as a leader, but Damar's best quality was that he wasn't interested in her at all.

She slept easier after that, even if the guilt was something she knew she'd carry to her grave.


	19. Courting Gifts (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences.

Julian didn’t really understand what the letter meant until he was actually standing on Cardassia and seeing Garak for the first time in nearly a year. There were, after all, a great many reasons Garak could’ve chosen to reveal his past and his thoughts after keeping silent all this time—friendship, a joke, a way of easing into a request for advice—and Julian couldn’t be sure if any of what he wrote was even true besides. It had seemed logical not to read too much into it, and Julian was half-convinced that he’d reach Cardassia Prime only for Garak to tell him that he’d never meant the invitation at all.

When Julian stepped out of his shuttle and found Garak waiting for him, he was relieved and surprised both. It was baffling, though, to see those feelings reflected on Garak’s face.

“Doctor!” Garak said as he stepped forward, his hand automatically reaching for Julian’s arm. Julian had missed the familiar, companionable squeeze, and he returned it without a thought. “I wasn’t sure that you’d gotten my letter. Or that you’d come.”

“Sorry. I should’ve told you, but there was an incident on Earo III—”

“Say no more. It’s a very hectic time for us all, I will admit.” Garak released him but didn’t move away. Instead, he kept looking at Julian with a very warm expression, one that helped Julian shake off the chill of space travel faster than even Cardassia’s dry air. “Though of course the lack of response meant that I had to consider the idea that you…weren’t interested.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Julian asked, and the response earned him a smile, one that he’d seen many times over their lunchtime discussions. 

“Flattering, Doctor, though not entirely honest. A smart man like you would surely have doubts after seeing my sordid past laid out, but it’s an old Cardassian tradition and, I believe, one that humans share.” Garak’s smile shifted to something else, equally familiar. Julian had thought in the past that the expression meant Garak was amused; here and now, as his mind processed what he _thought_ he was hearing, Julian wondered if it actually meant that Garak was _charmed_. “It’s important to know someone’s past before entering a relationship, or so I’ve been told.”

The pieces fell the rest of the way into place, and Julian processed it between one blink and the next. It really wasn’t that much of a surprise, come to think of it; it always meant something when a Cardassian shared information willingly, whether that was a death bed confession or, apparently, a letter written as a gift and offered to someone you wanted to date. Julian found he didn’t mind the realization at all; that wasn’t a surprise either. 

“Humans usually just talk over dinner,” Julian said, for lack of anything else. “For first dates, I mean. It takes longer.”

“How inefficient. But, if dinner is a requirement—” Garak gestured Julian in front of him, and then fell into step beside him. “—then I suppose we can find some. If you don’t mind joining me, that is?”

Julian smiled.

“I’d love to, Garak. I really would.”


	20. Ispirobot (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences.
> 
> Written because this Inspirobot generated image is the most Cardassian thing ever. It's even over a lizard picture.  
> http://generated.inspirobot.me/080/aXm5095xjU.jpg

"He tried to _kill_ you, Garak," Julian said, feeling more than a little frustrated as he finished sealing the puncture in Garak's shoulder. "Isn't he supposed to be the Minister's personal guard? You shouldn't have to worry about being stabbed by your own guard."

"It comes with power," Garak said. He didn't look particularly bothered or surprised, and he split his time equally between inspecting Julian's handiwork and inspecting the hole in his shirt as he talked. "It's actually an advantage to have enemies who show their hands this easily, you know. Now that the guard has been infiltrated by Gul Kenar's would-be assassins, the rest of the Ministry will close ranks and denounce the attempt. Nobody will support him openly when he can't even hire the right people for a simple assassination."

"'A simple assassination,' he says." Julian shook his head. "Garak, this is the third attempt on your life this month. If you were any easier to kill, they would've succeeded already, and I don't like the idea of them being luckier next time. Cardassia might not care if they have to find a new Minister, but _I_ certainly do; I didn't come all this way to bury my friend." 

"You just need to read more philosophy, Doctor," Garak said, but his expression was a little warmer than it had been earlier. "One of our greatest minds once asked if betrayal was a blessing, when viewed with the head and not the heart. Not a viewpoint that agrees with much of the Federation literature you've shared with me, I'll grant you, but one that's fitting at times. I'll find you the text, if you like."

"I don't need help with my head _or_ my heart, thank you, Garak," Julian said, perhaps a bit too forcefully. He busied himself with putting his equipment away when Garak turned that curious, assessing gaze on him, and Julian felt like a coward for doing it, but he couldn't help it. Garak would figure out what he was hiding eventually, but Julian didn't want it to happen yet, not when he hadn't even figured out what he was going to say. _I'm in love with you, please don't get murdered_ was a little too on the nose for him.

The silence stretched out impossibly until Garak broke it, with words so soft they might not have been directed at Julian at all.

"Yes, I can see that," Garak said, "but we're not all so fortunate."


	21. Options (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences.

"You'll let me know if the fabric is too uncomfortable, won't you?" Garak asked as his hands adjusted the drape of the material on Julian's shoulders. "It's a very high-quality blend, but some species find it too heavy."

Julian could see why; it _was_ heavy, and even just this short jacket seemed to drag down his frame like he was wearing a cape. A soaking wet cape.

He was more than capable of carrying it (the extra weight was nothing to his muscles, enhanced as they were) but he didn't think that was a smart idea, and so instead he just made a face.

"It might be a little difficult to move in," Julian admitted, and no sooner had he said the words then Garak started tugging the jacket off.

"Maybe the Noporrian silk would be better," Garak said. "I do have something close to your size, and the adjustments should be minor. I'm certain I'll have enough time to make them before your date this week."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your date, Doctor." Garak met his eyes in the mirror and smiled a perfectly polite smile. "I'm assuming you're going to be spending time with a charming young lady at some point this week, as that's usually the reason you come to my shop for new clothing."

Julian almost cringed. He could see how Garak had gotten that idea, but he felt uncomfortable nonetheless. The fact that Julian's relationships were apparently so fleeting and predictable that Garak could balance his inventory by them was just embarrassing, almost as embarrassing as the flush he could feel spreading up his neck. No amount of enhancements could fix _that_ , and he was sure Garak noticed it when his fingers brushed Julian's skin while he adjusted the new jacket's collar. The Noporrian silk was so light that Julian barely noticed it, and he could already picture it snagging on something, leading to a no doubt long lecture about his disrespect for Garak's hard work; no to that, then.

"Maybe I just felt like something different," Julian mumbled as he shrugged out of the silk and handed it back.

"Then I have a suit from Fero VI that might be _just_ the thing."

"If you insist, Garak," Julian said. "Though I wish you were right about the date."

"Am I not?"

"Well...you are. But it's with my grandmother." Julian shook his head, because now that he thought about it, the entire thing sounded a little ridiculous. "She's an aid worker with the Federation colonies in the Neutral Zone, and she should be passing through the station in a few days." She had also always been just as mad as he was at his parents for his enhancements; it was comforting not to pretend, at least around one person.

"Ah." Garak folded the silk jacket neatly and set it aside, seeming to take his time with his next words. "I have to admit that I'm at a loss, then - the suit from Fero VI is very attractive, but hardly appropriate for a family event."

"It's fine. I wasn't going to buy it for her, anyway." At Garak's expectant look, Julian shrugged. This, too, was embarrassing. "We've taken turns cancelling our lunches for the past month. I thought it would be easier just to come talk with you at work."

To Julian's surprise, Garak didn't immediately make fun of him for the sentiment, even though missing your lunch partner was probably far from an acceptable Cardassian emotion. In fact, he looked almost pleased, and when he helped Julian into another dark jacket, this one mid-weight and midnight blue, his motions were much less brusque than they'd been before.

"I'm grateful for the company," Garak eventually said as he plucked at the hem of Julian's jacket. The slight tug didn't do anything to upset the way it fit around Julian's shoulders and arms, just fitted enough and striking against his skin; Garak really was a very good tailor, whatever else he might be. "Although if you'd given me more notice, we could've solved both problems that you've mentioned."

"Both?"

"Yes, Doctor." Garak smiled at him, warmly enough that Julian felt his heart pick up speed. "With a dinner date."

"Well." Julian was stunned, but not stunned enough that it took him more than a second to respond. "I haven't eaten yet."

Garak's smile grew slightly wider.

"In that case," Garak said, "I really do recommend this suit."


	22. Exes (Garak/Bashir, past Garak/OMC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Teen.

Dr. Bashir hadn't liked Prarit from the moment he'd met him, and it was a dislike that only seemed to grow stronger the longer Prarit remained to assist them. There was no reason for this, as far as Garak could tell, but he reminded himself that the good doctor had spent years disguising his truly amazing intellect as something only in line with normal standards of human brilliance; Garak had no idea what signs Dr. Bashir was reading that he couldn't see, no idea what suspicions and calculations might be crossing his mind. It wasn't a disadvantage Garak liked even now, but he acknowledged it and let it have its benefits; if Dr. Bashir was seeing treachery where Garak somehow saw none, it wasn't something he should take lightly just because of his pride. He remained on his guard around Prarit until he had a chance to speak to Dr. Bashir alone, an opportunity that came when Prarit left their camp to seek a fresh batch of supplies from the Federation Aid workers stationed across the city.

Garak was trying to come up with a suitably subtle way to bring the subject up (Prarit, after all, was likely not without his own supporters in their little camp) when Dr. Bashir broached the subject first, with all the subtlety of a stampeding gettle herd.

"You seem to know Prarit fairly well," Bashir said, not nearly nonchalantly enough. The room might've been empty, but he stood a good two feet away, making his words easily loud enough to be overheard if someone passed by the doorway at exactly the right moment. "I don't think I've seen someone that happy to see you the entire time we've been here."

The observation, though harsh, wasn't entirely inaccurate.

"I've known him for years," Garak said after a moment's pause. "Though not so well that I consider him a trusted friend."

"How well _do_ you know him, exactly?" 

There was a strange inflection in the question, though its meaning was one Garak couldn't place. 

"We were acquaintances when we were younger, lovers for a short time." Garak heard Bashir take a sharp breath, but he ignored it; whether the surprise was genuine or affected, it made no difference. "And I have not seen or spoken to him since before I was exiled." He moved a little closer, enough that his next comment wouldn't be audible to any potential passer-by. "Do you suspect he's plotting something?"

"What? No, of course not." The words had barely left Bashir's mouth before he gave a short laugh, though it was not a happy sound. "Actually, I take that back: he's definitely plotting _something_. Mostly ways to get into your bed."

"Oh." Garak pulled back. He felt strangely disappointed. "That's fine, then, though I don't know why that's caused you such concern. Prarit has always had a reputation for his amatory adventures, and a flirtation is harmless enough."

Garak thought that was that, but Bashir surprised him by continuing the discussion, his tone sharp and defensive.

"Who said I was concerned?"

"You did, Doctor, with every glare and pointed word." Garak looked at him a little more closely. Now that a possible betrayal was no longer at the forefront of his mind, his suspicions took a different turn, one that he shouldn't have given more than a moment's thought. He'd known Bashir for years, after all, and he'd never seemed interested in anything more than friendship; the idea that Bashir might be jealous of one of Garak's old acquaintances seemed absurd.

And yet.

"If you have concerns for other reasons," Garak said carefully, "I'd like to hear them." Garak placed a hand lightly on Bashir's arm, just above his elbow. "I value our discussions a great deal, and you can never tell when an unvoiced question might be answered."

Bashir understood his meaning immediately, and he covered Garak's hand with his own. His grip was warm and sure, much more certain that Garak's hesitant touch.

"Then...I might have something to tell you. A concern that needs addressed."

Garak smiled.

He hoped Prarit wouldn't be too disappointed when he returned.


	23. Soulmarks (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences.

If asked, Julian would have said that he never thought he'd meet his Match, but the truth was, he'd never had any intention of looking. With his secrets and his past, it had seemed like the purest blessing that his Mark was a perfectly common star-shape in the perfectly common location of his left clavicle. With two-thirds of Starfleet personnel bearing a star-Mark and roughly fifty percent of all the human race having it on one clavicle or the other, his Mark was perhaps the best disguise he had. It was ordinary and unremarkable, even if he wasn't.

He didn't really expect other species to view it differently, however, and that was his mistake, one he only realized when Garak was helping him with his suit jacket one day. Garak must have caught a glimpse of the distinctive dark shape, and he froze; it was only for a second, but in someone with Garak's instincts for lying, that alone was telling.

"Garak," Julian started, but he didn't know what to say beyond that. Cardassian Marks were a closely guarded secret by the entire race, with no statistics or commonalities that Julian could immediately pull to mind; nonetheless, he could only think of one reason for that reaction from his friend.

"My apologies, Doctor," Garak said with a bright voice as he moved away. "I didn't mean to intrude."

"It's not intruding," Julian said slowly, but the words felt wrong and so did the silence that followed. "Did--did you have something to say to me?"

For humans and many other species, finding a Match was usually met with proclamations on both sides, an acknowledgment, a declaration. Julian knew the steps even if he hadn't cared to try the dance before, and surely Garak, with his unnerving attention to detail, knew them as well.

But Garak only smiled, looking for all the world like the thought of a formal Meeting never even crossed his mind.

"Merely that I'm surprised, Doctor!" He tutted softly, like he might at an under-cooked meal or a late shipment of fabric. "I've seen at least two dozen Marks like yours in the past week; you certainly have a great _many_ options."

"Not ones that could be verified," Julian said, but it was an automatic response. Garak was back to bustling in his shop and seeming perfectly normal, but Julian had a sinking feeling in his chest, one that wasn't going away. That pause had been real, and there were only two reasons for it that Julian could see.

One, that Garak had seen Julian's Mark and recognized that they were a Match. 

Two, that Garak had seen Julian's Mark and realized that they _weren't_ a Match.

In that moment, Julian wasn't sure which was worse.


	24. Your Ship and a Tropey Romance Novel Plot (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences.

"I don't think this is the right program," Julian said as he looked around. Where he'd expected to see the familiar surroundings of Agent Bashir's Hong Kong apartment, he was instead standing in a large, well-lit room containing two récamier sofas and a mahogany coffee table. Vases of tastefully arranged flowers framed the wide windows, and the scene outside was picturesque, with green grass and a lake and blossoming trees with leaves swaying gently in an unfelt breeze. The entire setting felt old-fashioned and elegant, though Julian couldn't place the time period; he suspected it was entirely fictional, much like his secret agent programs, and that each piece was intended more for the visual effect than any sense of historical accuracy.

Regardless, it felt like an oddly calm setting to begin a story in, and he was just turning to Garak to ask his thoughts on this new holo-program when the doors to the room burst open. A frantic-looking young woman in a dark dress, ruffled petticoat, and white cap immediately took one look at the two of them and gasped dramatically, and Julian realized then exactly what kind of story they were in.

"Mr. Garak!" She turned more towards Julian and gasped again, louder than the first time. "Dr. Bashir! You can't be in here – not without a chaperone!"

Before Julian could even pause the program, she spun around and left, presumably to find the next player in the story. Julian wondered, briefly, if they should be expecting an elderly aunt or a disapproving mother, but he was pulled out of his thoughts by Garak's quiet laugh.

"Oh, a chaperone?" He looked at Julian from underneath his lashes and blinked rapidly, the picture of overdone flirtation. "For you or me?"

"I'm honestly not sure," Julian said, and he told himself it was pure curiosity that caused him to sit down on one of the sofas rather than exit the program like he'd originally planned. "But I think we're about to find out."


	25. Undercover as Master and Slave (Kira/Sisko)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Mature.

Nerys had played this role before, more than she cared to admit. But it was somehow different with Sisko's hand clasped on the back of her neck: warm, firm, and just casual enough to look possessive to a stranger's gaze.

"Sorry for this, Major," he said under his breath, and she knew he was apologizing for the way people were leering, the skimpy clothes she was wearing, the way she was draped across his lap like a pretty pet. He probably didn't think he needed to apologize for anything else; he was wrong, but at least in this, Nerys didn't want more useless words. If her stomach was clenching with want and she was growing wet between her legs, that was her own business, at least until they made it everyone else's.

"I'm happy to serve," she said, filling her role to perfection. When Sisko's hand moved from her waist to her breast, she moaned for their audience, and she grabbed his wrist when she felt the aborted twitch of him wanting to pull away but stopping himself in time. He probably thought it was noble, trying to refrain from touching her even in circumstances like this; Nerys only found it inconvenient, and when she felt more eyes on her back, she pushed into his touch, arching into his body in a slow, sensuous slide that left her purpose for this meeting unmistakable. Nobody had to know that she was looking for defectors, for traitors to the Bajoran people, just as long as she played her part.

She wouldn't let Sisko ruin this, even if she had to make every move herself.


	26. Sex Pollen (Kira/Jadzia)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Explicit. Dubious consent (sex pollen.)

This sort of thing had never happened to Jadzia before, but since it _had_ happened to Dax (seven times, to be exact) she was one of the few people who recognized the symptoms as they hit. It didn't help much in the end, because recognizing that the itch under her skin and the hot pain in her stomach were artificial still didn't make them go away or become easier to manage, but it was nice to know nonetheless. She considered herself very fortunate on that respect, actually; if it hadn't been for the Dax symbiont keeping her mind steady for those precious few seconds, she wouldn't have even been aware enough to know that there was anything wrong. The idea of controlling it or stopping it was laughable, of course, but it was good that she didn't lose her mind entirely, not right away.

Nerys wasn't even that lucky, but she was lucky that the one she'd been trapped with in the turbolift at the time was Jadzia. They were friends, which meant that when Nerys's eyes started going dark and she started tugging at her clothes, Jadzia told her everything would be fine, explained the situation quickly, and then dropped to her knees. 

Nerys hadn't even gotten her suit all the way unfastened before her hands buried themselves in Jadzia's hair, hard and deep enough that Jadzia's clip came undone and fell to the floor. The sound was barely noticeable over the rushing in Jadzia's head, and when Nerys pulled her forward, Jadzia went, eagerly pressing her lips to the thin fabric barely covering Nerys's cunt. It was warm and wet and salty when she tasted it, but it was still a barrier to what she wanted; impatient, Jadzia twisted a finger in the band of Nerys's underwear, twisted and twisted until it snapped, and then she soothed the resulting red mark on Nerys's skin with her tongue for precious seconds. She didn't know which of them finally moved her mouth to the soft, red hair over Nerys's cunt, only that she felt satisfaction once she was there and finally able to stroke her tongue across her clit.

It was a satisfaction that wouldn't last, but for now, Jadzia held Nerys's hip in her hands and licked her until she was crying, then sucked her clit until she screamed.


	27. Bites (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Mature.

Human skin had always seemed so fragile to Garak, so soft and delicate and full of nerves, that the urge to bite down on Dr. Bashir's throat honestly startled him. He didn't want to hurt Bashir, not really, but the thought of that warm flesh between his teeth was tantalizing, almost too much to resist; it was the predator in him, he assumed, that fought Garak's desire not to hurt with the desire to see that skin darkly bruised with the shape of his mouth.

In the end, he couldn't stop the impulse completely; his next kiss landed with just an edge of teeth, barely enough to be noticeable.

He didn't expect Bashir to moan and pull him closer, whispering the word " _harder_ " into his ear even as his fingers dug into Garak's sides with their own bruising force.


	28. Being Mistaken For a Hooker (Garak/Other + Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Teen, for sexual harassment by weird aliens.

“There are only so many reasons for a Cardassian to be living alone and off-planet,” the Wykhi explained while holding Garak’s hand in a firm grip between two of his six paws. “And you don’t look like a spy.”

“But I _do_ look like a prostitute?” Garak asked, mostly because he was curious and he had nothing else to do, not while he was functionally trapped in place as he’d been for the past fifteen minutes. Wykhies had iron grips, and this one seemed to love hearing himself talk; Garak would’ve appreciated that trait under normal circumstances, but in this case, it was merely prolonging a very unfortunate encounter. “Is it the red?”

The Wykhi shook his head, and one of his other paws came up to pet Garak on the shoulder. It was heavy and moved unnervingly like an insect.

“Of course not,” the Wykhi said, as though he was trying to soothe Garak’s pride. “I just observed you for half a day or so. You have many customers.” The alien leaned forward, and what had been a almost polite smile dipped closer to a leer. “I heard male Cardassians are flat below, like women.” Another paw reached up, this time to land on his lower back. “I’d like to see.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Garak said, and he was contemplating means of escape—pull out of his grip and flee to the promenade? Make up an excuse to call Odo? Offer the Wykhi Dukat’s contact information?—when the chime at his shop door went off. He turned his head automatically, and his gratitude for the interruption increased tenfold upon seeing it was Bashir.

“Garak,” Bashir said in a cheery voice. If he’d noticed the awkward situation in front of him, it didn’t show on his face. “I just came by to remind you of our appointment.”

Their lunch together that he was late for, Garak remembered; he wondered what had made Bashir choose the word he did. Whatever the reason, the word combined with Bashir’s Starfleet uniform made the Wykhi release him, and Garak wasn’t about to question his sudden freedom.

“Ah, Doctor! Just a moment.” It took time to hurry to Bashir’s side without looking like he was in a hurry, and it was instinct that made him grab Bashir’s elbow in a courtly manner rather than staying his usual distance aside him. Bashir was a quick study, and he didn’t startle or shrug off the grip; Garak’s relief was so strong that it almost made him dizzy.

“Everything all right, Garak?” Bashir asked, his voice pitched low enough— _just_ low enough—that a Wykhi would have a hard time hearing it.

“Of course, Doctor,” Garak said, though he didn’t release his grip. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to move our ‘appointment’ to the medical bay. Until a certain ship departs, if possible.”

“We can do that,” Bashir said, and they walked to the sickbay together, arm-in-arm, until long after they’d left the Wykhi’s sight.


	29. Expecting the Worst (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Teen.

It was a sign of Garak's foolishness that he let Julian Bashir kiss him without even a thought to the reason, but a greater sign was that he let the kissing continue long after he realized what the reason must be. Bashir had been acting strangely lately—lingering in Garak's presence after their lunches ended, visiting him without advance notice, aiming smiles with dangerous precision in Garak's direction whenever their conversation paused—and the thought that it was a plot had occurred to him. He hadn't expected it to be a cruel one, but that was the only explanation, really, for the way Bashir had moved into his space with intent and kissed him so sweetly: a plot, a ploy, a prank.

Bashir was warm and lovely, and Garak fell for it for minutes longer than he should have. By the time he summoned up the will to push him away, Bashir's shirt was gone, and Garak's hand landed on the smooth, bare skin in the center of his chest; the temptation to pull him back down was strong, and Garak couldn't help his smile.

"Oh, _well_ done, Doctor."

Bashir blinked at him, but he let Garak's hand remain where it was, neither pushing forward or pulling back.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm congratulating you," Garak said, his voice so bright that it was like the glare of sunlight off of ice. ""Your scheme, your trick, your game. Whatever it is you're doing," Garak said, getting angrier with every passing word, "it's very well-done."

"You're paranoid, Garak," Bashir said, but he was watching Garak closely with those brilliant brown eyes of his. "Are you saying that you think this is a plot to...humiliate you?"

"What else could it be?" Garak countered. "If your interest was sincere, I'm sure I would've noticed before now."

For some reason, that made Bashir smile.

"Or maybe you're drawing the wrong conclusion from the right signs," he said, and then he sat back on his heels, just out of Garak's reach. "We can stop, if you want to. I'd hate for there to be further misunderstandings between us, though I still can't imagine why you think I'm not exactly where I want to be. Sincerely."

'Because good things didn't happen to exiled, bastard Cardassians,' Garak didn't say. That was more than he wanted to share, even if Bashir was telling the truth. And—Garak admitted this reluctantly—he _might_ have been telling the truth; Bashir had never lied to him, to Garak's knowledge, and Garak was an expert at detecting lies.

It all made the decision—the mistake—so much easier to make.

"I don't want to stop," Garak said, and he was rewarded when Bashir leaned forward and kissed him again, once again bringing all that warm skin within reach.


	30. Being Mistaken For A Couple (Garak/Bashir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for General Audiences.

The misunderstanding was all Julian’s fault. After years of having lunch with Garak, he’d assumed that everyone on Deep Space Nine knew they were friends and drew the proper conclusions whenever they were seen together; he’d forgotten entirely that DS9 had a continually rotating parade of tourists who weren’t as familiar with the ins and outs of station gossip, and that (without context) two men sharing a dessert while nearly elbow to elbow at a cozy table for two probably looked very different.

That was no reason, however, for Garak to shoot him a frankly accusatory look the moment the chatty Lysepian had turned the corner to find her friend, and the cake they’d been sharing (the last piece, hence the sharing) suddenly felt like a weight in his stomach.

“It’s a simple misunderstanding,” Julian started to explain, but by then the Lysepian had returned, accompanied by another one of her species that was unfortunately very familiar to Julian. The Lysepian man in question had gotten drunk and made a few passes at Julian the night before, passes that had moved from obnoxious to actively interfering with the station’s medical business over the course of a few hours. Getting Odo involved had been unpleasant for everyone, and Julian had rather hoped they wouldn’t cross paths again.

Judging by the expression on the Lysepian man’s face, the feeling was quite mutual.

“Look, Uodahz, I told you!” The Lysepian woman said, none the wiser to the underlying tension in their group. “I told you the Federation was open-minded.” She turned to Julian and Garak, and continued speaking in a conspiratorial voice, “You don’t often see human/Cardassian couples in space. It’s so nice to see a happy one, and here of all places.”

“Yes, very nice,” agreed Uodahz, but he was watching Julian with a speculative gleam in his eye, and the once-over he gave Garak was accompanied with a barely-disguised sneer. It was clear that he didn’t think much of Julian’s taste.

Julian was offended on Garak’s behalf, and all thoughts of correcting the misunderstanding immediately disappeared.

“Thank you. Garak and I are very happy together,” he said, as he gave an obviously affectionate squeeze to Garak’s arm. 

“Yes, very,” Garak said smoothly and without missing a beat, though his return gesture—a hand snaking up to land high on Julian’s thigh—nearly made Julian startle and give the game away.

The quickly smothered amusement on Garak’s face confirmed that that had been the goal, and Julian didn’t know what was funnier: the look on Uodahz’s face, or the look on Garak’s when he responded by wrapping an obnoxious arm around his waist and tucking his hand into Garak’s front pocket.


End file.
